Memories from Joan Stevens

We sat in the Relief Society room of the Mojave Lane chapel, listening to a recording of music of an Asian country in our cultural refinement lesson. Our teacher played it for us to acquaint us with some aspects of our Church members' lives in that country. To our Western ears it was a cacophony of unfamiliar instruments playing 5 tone melodies in strangely accented rhythms. Women looked at one another and made faces. Then some started to titter and giggle. Disaster was looming. When the short recording stopped, Pat Nielsen intervened, raised her hand and asked for just a few moments to do an experiment with the women. She went quickly to the front, picked up the chalk, and in a few seconds wrote out on the blackboard about four bars of two rhythms to be performed simultaneously. Then, turning to the women she asked them to take out either their car keys or a pen or pencil. One rhythmic line she rehearsed with those shaking their car keys, the other then rehearsed tapping their pen on a hymnal. Then we performed together, repeating it several times. Like magic our ears became accustomed to the rhythm and it became interesting. The women then asked to hear the recording again. This time there were no weird looks or giggles. The bridge of understanding had been built by Pat, and the sisters invited to gain appreciation and love for their sisters across the sea.

They were different, this family that rented the house across the street from the Nielsens and next to us. They were not from Utah, were not LDS, and were black. The father managed a drugstore, and the mother was the lady preacher at Rock Canyon Church. The three young boys rode their bikes all over the lawns, theirs and ours, and climbed the trees to watch all that went on over the fence.

Soon the telephone rang, and it was Pat on the other end of the line, inviting us for a barbecue with this family. We arranged a time, divided up tasks, and gathered on the Nielsens' deck on a warm summer evening. It was a lovely time we had together. The children ate and then went down to the back yard to play, while the adults lingered over second helpings and got better acquainted. By the end of the evening we had made new friends and a sense of peace and calm acceptance reigned, thanks to Pat's friendly and inclusive demeanor.